The power of Starclan [Frost x Rowan] compels ye

[Whiskers]

He had gotten her! Finally he had landed a significant blow, which he delivered with enough strength to upset Frostpaw’s careful balance. He was proud of himself. No longer did he feel like a fool, manipulated like a piece of prey, or toyed with like he was a moss ball. He forgot how much he loved battle, the thrill it could bring—especially these fake ones because he did not have to fear for his life, or for the lives of loved ones. He was taken back to his kithood. It had been so long since he really playfought anyone. And to think, he was having this much fun with Frostpaw!

Frostpaw snarled, and it was an unintentional warning that she gave him, that alerted him she was planning her attack. He braced himself and dodged the first blow, but stumbled on his own paws and the next two hit him hard. The first knocked the breath out of him and his muzzle opened to draw in air. But the second blow slapped his muzzle to the side. Both the blows combined caused him to reel back, nearly falling to one side, if not for his tail, which was keeping him balanced. Rowanheart desperately tried to refocus his vision, so he could see where she was coming from next, or he would be done in the next few moves.

She’s so strong. How does that little body hold so much strength? Where does it come from? The warrior wondered and he pinpointed Frostpaw, but he was a second too late—because she was already charging at him. Rowanheart hissed in annoyance and tried to dodge, turning his body to jump to the side. Frostpaw, however, caught him on the flank with so much force that they both tumbled over each other. Their bodies kicked up enough dust to cause Rowanheart to cough and become disoriented once again.

He was badly beaten and outsmarted, but Rowanheart wasn’t even thinking of this shame anymore. All the hostility he had felt earlier in the fact had been pushed aside. It was interesting how it had disappeared so quickly, only to be replaced with a new aggression that was not driven by his own prejudice. It made the battle more enjoyable and it cleared the fog in his head.

But he still had his pride! He couldn’t let her beat him so easily, oh no! He was down, but not out, and he still had options. For instance, she was in close proximity to him, and certainly she was recovering too? Without bothering to scramble to his feet, Rowanheart reached out and grabbed Frostpaw by the scuff. He hoped to drag her toward him so he could use his weight and pin her down. It was the only way he could win at this point. If Frostpaw broke free, he would not be able to get up in time to defend himself.

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw was more braced for the impact than her mentor. She had half-expected Rowanheart to dodge her last attack, but it seemed that it had worked much better than she had hoped. As she smacked into him, I slight pain echoed through her body but she just about managed to keep her focus as she felt them fly forward with the impact. For a few moments, she had no clue where she was, and she only realised where she was when she felt the ground again beneath her belly.

She blinked, struggling to get to her paws as soon as she realised where she was. In that moment, she realised suddenly that she was incredibly tired... she had spent all her energy. If she didn't end this now, she wouldn't be ending it. Rowanheart would pin her down, he would win. She could not, under any circumstances, let that happen.

As she moved to get up, her limbs and neck still aching from the tumble, she was startled to feel pricks at the back of her neck. Rowanheart had already begun to move... to win. Alarmed, she didn't even think before she yanked her head forwards, moving her neck out of his jaws. She couldn't let that happen... she couldn't, she just couldn't.

Her body heavy and moves somewhat more laborious than normal, she got to her feet as quick as she could. Whipping round, she had almost expected Rowanheart to be ready for her... but to her surprise, he was on the floor... completely vunerable.

Yet... strangely, she found the breath catching in her throat. She hesitated dangerously, finding herself backing off against her will.

That cat... on the floor was Rowanheart. It wasn't an anonymous cat anymore, or some watered down version of him she projected onto his form in order not to hurt him... it was Rowanheart. Flesh, blood, fur.

And he was vunerable. Lain on the floor, throat so ridiculously within grasping distance it would take only one swift movement and the battle would be won.

But it wasn't his vunerability, some sick and twisted sense of morality, that stopped her from leaping upon him, it was the surge of hatred that swept through her veins. As she saw his features clearly for the first time since the battle began, she found her deep-seated loathing returning to her in an instant. So great was it that her entire body seemed to take on a ridiculous amount of energy, an energy so explosive her paws itched to move. Her heart and body urged her to fight. Not to end this. But to fight. To leap onto him, to pin him down, to scratch him, to bite him. To make the blood stream from his body, to inflict as much pain as possible, before finally pinning him down for a final time and taking victory once and for all. She'd end it all... end it for Finchpaw and herself.

The rush of thoughts, the sudden instinctual desire, made her hesitate. It scared her...

She wasn't in control. She wasn't in control of herself... and it scared her.

If she grasped his throat now, it would not be a dainty grasp. No, it would be a vicious snake-like vice...

She would kill him.

Backing up yet further, she knew she could not do that. There was no question of that. It went against every fibre in her being... it was impossible. Not only would she curse herself for eternity and hurt Finchpaw... she would have killed a cat. She would have taken life from a cat, she would have controlled life itself...

And that was truly something she would never ever do.

After a few moments with a look of blind shock upon her face, Frostpaw forced herself to exhale. She drooped into a seating position, taking a purposely nonchalant stance. She took to grooming herself rhythmically, brushing her tongue over her pelt for a few moments to calm herself before gazing down at her mentor.

"I think I won that one." She said bluntly, her voice a little too cold and a little too emotionless to sound completely natural. There was a slight note of triumph in her voice, but it wavered and trembled weakly.

That fight... winning that fight hadn't been worth it to feel what she had just experienced. She had... lost control... her emotions had dominated her almost totally, she hadn't been herself. No fight was worth that. None ever. It had hurt.

((Still needs to be edited for coherency, but it'll do for tonight.))

[Whiskers]

Frostpaw had been so close, nearly in his grasp...but he was too slow. His open mouth snapped at nothing but air and he realized that this meant he was done. Defeated. His heart was pounding, his muscles aching-- he was not the youngest thing in the world, and Frostpaw had fought him valiantly, to a point that he was too tired to get up and continue. Any moment now, Frostpaw would lunge herself on top of him and seal her victory.

Any moment now...

Any second...now... now.... maybe now...

"I think I won that one." Frostpaw said rather...bluntly. Rowanheart looked up at her, very confused. What was this she-cat thinking? Really, she had been doing so well (and it nearly hurt him to think this) and then she just sits down and leaves her victim lying there long enough to recover? Stupid. She was stupid. All respect that Rowanheart had gained for Frostpaw was dashed in that instant.

"No. No you didn't," replied Rowanheart as he stood up. He stifled his groan as he did so, ignoring his aching joints. "You didn't finish me off, Frostpaw. You realize that in a real battle, you would have been dead in an instant? I don't care if you think of this as merely a training session, we have to go through all the motions for practice purposes. Would it have been too hard for you to just finish me? Dear Starclan, you gave the battle away at the last moment!"

His frustration was back, fluffing up his fur. Urgh, at this rate, Frostpaw would be an apprentice till she was his age! But...well...she had done well, overall. Rowanheart realized that he had to-- or rather, should-- give her a compliment. He was reluctant to do so, as it would just fluff up Frostpaw's ego and make everything worse.

He went for it anyway. "But... but you did well. You have a natural instinct Frostpaw," Rowanheart said gruffly, " And if you would just... practice some more and follow through to the end, you might be able to get your warrior's name before you're 20 moons old."

"And of course,"he continued, unable to just give her the compliment and just that, "you'll have to learn how to respect your elders and Starclan. But we'll just concentrate on your hunting and fighting for now."

Since the other stuff is pretty much a lost cause, thought Rowanheart as he composed himself, licking his chest fur into place again.

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[Rolo]

Oh, no, dear Rowanheart! It wouldn't have been so hard for me to finish you. It would have been incredibly easy, in fact. I could still finish you, if you're so eager. I could finish you once and for all if you're polite.

Anger blazed in Frostpaw's stomach, but her blood lust did not return. As much as she despised this idiotic piece of foxdung, her loss of control a moment ago had led her to feel too insecure to make any moves against him. She felt drained. She felt sick, in fact. Her flash of murderous intent had chilled her to the core, made her wonder what exactly she could be capable of. She was numb to rage now, to insults. She would never let herself feel like that again... spit venom she might, but harm him she would not.

Her feelings of helplessness was isolating her from the rest of the world, she knew it. It felt hard to breathe, to remember she was alive. She was scared of herself. It was making it incredibly difficult to focus on the ginger tom, knowing that she could have been standing over his dead form.

She was most definitely not in the mood to listen to large streams of nonsense outlining exactly how awful she was. She knew that. That insolent tom was so blind to her feelings and thought, he'd rant for moons. She was pretty sure he wouldn't be saying those things if he was receptive enough to realise why she'd stopped

Unfortunately, the deluded mousebrain would never understand, so he'd keep asking her to end the fight properly. He'd keep telling her to kill him again and again and again. Ironically, she found this so hilarious that she knew she'd probably survive this rant. Being Frostpaw, rather than crumble or get downhearted, she'd do the opposite to what any other cat would do in this situation; laugh.

Her whiskers twitched with slight amusement as he continued his speech. She started to believe her brief want to murder had sent her mad, for every little thing her mentor said made her want to giggle. Rowanheart's complete unease and frustration was so ridiculously comical and his obviously forced compliment was made her feel hysterical. It was so fantastically like Rowanheart, the silly 'I am the best mentor in the world who knows best' cat, the words seemed to become funnier and funnier.

By the end of his speech, she was grinning wildly.

"If this were a real battle, dear Rowanheart, I'd have run. You're not considering the fact that you're so obviously and completely exhausted that you wouldn't be able to catch me. I think that battle established that you're much too old to keep up with me, anyway. Besides," She cocked her head slightly, "aren't we supposed to try not to kill other cats, just scare them off? How exactly would pinning them to the ground make them give up?"

She smirked. Her voice was dripping with humorous intent and was delivered at a pace that made it obvious that there was little thought behind the words. The reply was immediate, was thought up on the spot and was designed to have great impact but little actual lasting effect.

"And, 20 moons? Gosh, that was alot sooner than I expected. You've been making me believe I'm a lost cause, Rowanheart! How nasty of you."

She smiled, her eyes glittering. Forgetting her tiredness, she wandered up to the tom and sat a little way away from him, facing him head on.

Now it was time to have some good, old-fashioned fun, Frostpaw style.

"And you should know, good Rowanheart, that I will start respecting my elders as soon as they give me a reason to respect them. As for Starclan, I'll start respecting them when they actually become real."

[Whiskers]

Rowanheart felt like he was on the floor again and she was repeatedly scraping her claws across his face, while she giggled and giggled and giggled. Why wouldn’t she ever shut up? Why couldn’t she be like any NORMAL apprentice and thank him for the compliment he had just given her? It had been excruciating, giving her that comment. And what does she do? Spit it back in his face. Kick him in the shin.

Because, really, was it so necessary to comment on his age?!

It hurt more than Rowanheart thought it would hurt too. It brought a new type of shame to his defeat and made it nearly impossible to accept that Frostpaw was the victor. Yes, he was old. Rowanheart knew that. He couldn’t stop the seasons from rolling by…but now Frostpaw had shoved it in his face. It felt like she had insulted his skills as a warrior, and he felt rather useless in that second. He was glad she had stayed away from his belief, or from his parenting methods, but it was a low blow anyway. She really did have no respect for her elders. Rowanheart wished to just turn around and go sulk. Either that, or attack her from behind.

But he couldn’t do those two things. He could only sit here and engage in another round of Rowanheart v. Frostpaw. It was another battle, directly following their last. They were back to using their tongues as weapons instead of their claws.

“Were those comments really needed, Frostpaw?” he hissed at her, stalking forward, dwarfing her with his size. At least he still had that—it brought him a heartbeat of comfort. “Did you have to open your big mouth? Do you have no self-control that you can’t sit quiet like a good apprentice while I try to teach you? Every time you talk, you just dig yourself a bigger and bigger grave! I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish with your insults and your smart aleck smirks, but it’s not getting you anywhere.”

Rowanheart took a breath, to calm his racing heart and aching claws. He hated his violent urges, to smash her face into the ground, or to take her throat within his teeth. Every time he saw her face though, the impulse rose within him, like bile. He took another breath, and he managed to sound calmer as he continued.

“I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again. You want to be a warrior, you want to talk to my son, and you want me to respect you? Then you’ll have to start listening to me, stop talking so much, and you’ll have to force a little bit of respect for me, and then I’ll do the same for you. If not, then you will suffer for it.”

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw was slightly taken aback by his harsh tone. Good gosh, what in heaven's name did she say to make him so angry? However, as soon as her mild shock passed, her smirk was firmly upon her face again.

It was the same old thing, again and again. 'Take me seriously!', 'Why are you insulting me?', 'You're being silly'. How many times had she heard this arguement before? How many moons ago did it stop having an effect? However, the thing that actually made her laugh was the way he acted as if he hadn't insulted her. The patronising idiot had told her she was complete foxdung for not killing him (irony, irony, irony) and then forced out a compliment against his will. Was this half-hearted compliment supposed to counter all the negative things he'd said to her? Rowanheart had just become a whole lot more ridiculous, and a forest load more funny!

"Oh, Rowanheart." She sighed with a smile on her face, "Of course they were neccessary! I was telling the truth, just as you were."

She was solemn, pitying. "Just as you told me I'll not be a warrior for another 8 moons, which is well into my adulthood, because I'm apparantly completely unskilled because of one mistake, I told you you lost because of your age. It wasn't an insult, it was fact. Younger warriors have an advantage, that's a given, Rowanheart."

She was speaking frankly now, her smiles falling away temporarily as she drove in her important point. "Besides, if you hadn't heard, I asked you two questions so I could learn from you. I genuinely wanted to know the answer, they weren't just there to make you think I was being a 'smart aleck'."

She paused for a moment, considering her next remark. Fury threatened to lace her next speech, but she purposely made herself ignore that this might come through.

"And don't respect me unless I am worth it in your eyes. That's what I do." She said bluntly, "But don't lecture me on respect. You have no place to lecture me on it, Rowanheart."

She took a deep breath. Forcing her eyes into Rowanheart's, "You think you've spoken kindly to me. You think you've given me the best environment to grow up. Forced compliments are not compliments, they're veiled insults. Telling me I'm going to stay an apprentice for another lot of moons is not encouragement. Shouting at me and driving in I've made a mistake will not make me like you, or respect you. I've shown you today how good a warrior I could have be... I've shown you I HAVE learnt to fight despite your attempts to tell me I know nothing. Have you given me any respect for this? None. I used to respect you... at least I admired your persistance and your attempts to follow your own path... but you've made me despise you. Will you ever respect me, for anything? I think not. Don't suggest you will, Rowanheart. You're kidding yourself."

[Whiskers]

Rowanheart very nearly lunged at her then. He thought he was going to. He felt the anger seep into every crack of his bone, and the burn of it was driving him crazy. He was going to attack. He was going to, finally, give her what she deserved. He would merely pin her down, lower his head, and end it with a single, hard bite to her neck. Then he would be free from her and this anger. His family would be free. His clan would be free. No one would punish him for it, when they saw that it was Frostpaw’s blood that ruined Fogclan’s perfection. His claws glinted, his lips pulled back. His fangs begged for it.

But the attack did not come. For around him, in the fading light of the afternoon, he saw through his vision of red. The haze of his fury was cleared by the gentle brush of wind. Once again, he felt Starclan saving him, bringing him back from the brink. Starclan.

It was what separated him from her. He saw Starclan on the trees, on the ground, on the bushes around them. The light touched everything…even Frostpaw.

His fur lay flat and his snarl died on his lips. And peace enveloped him as Starclan hugged him close and reminded him of his duties as Frostpaw’s mentor.

She is ignorant, Rowanheart. She has been filled with sin. What she says…they are all words from the Dark Forest. Nonsense. If you attack, then you will be engulfed in her sin. Covered by that wicked, dirty blood that you would have drawn. Rowanheart imagined Starclan saying to him, in the soothing voice of his long dead mate, Zoe.

It is not your job to purge her of that sin. It is no longer your job to save her either. Starclan has sent someone remember? She will be taught a lesson. Soon, Zoe whispered to him. Soon she will learn and come crawling for forgiveness at your paws. Just let Mistpelt take care of her.

There it was! The beacon of hope in this dark world! Rowanheart’s expression became suddenly light-hearted. A smile graced his lips and he looked down at Frostpaw with that condescending smile as he shook his head, back and forth. How could he ever forget how Mistpelt—the image of perfection and purity itself—was going to save Fogclan! She would save Frostpaw too. Either that, or Frostpaw would receive the wrath that she deserved. He should trouble himself no longer over this ill-mannered fool and her soul.

“Frostpaw, you are wrong, my dear apprentice. I can come to respect you again because I have the love of Starclan. And with Starclan, I can forgive you of all that you’ve done to me,” Rowanheart told her, no longer angry. His voice was filled with self-righteousness and confidence. “It is Starclan that blesses me with the ability to do that. I know that to you, it might seem impossible, but if you would just open up your heart, you’d realize that it’s very, very possible indeed.”

Rowanheart lifted a paw and casually stroked it with his tongue, before looking back down at Frostpaw pitifully. “And I do forgive you for what you’ve done to me in the past. Yes…right now, I forgive you, Frostpaw. For your insults, for your attitude, for everything. I know you can’t help much of it, being sinful and corrupt. I hope one day you will realize that it is Starclan that you have been missing. And then, when that day comes, you will deserve the nurturing mentor, you will deserve the compliments and you will deserve your warrior name.”

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[Rolo]

Frostpaw watched the fury bubbling under her mentor's pelt, fully expecting either a great nonsensical rant or for the cat to spring at her. She had readied herself accordingly, both backing off slightly and tensing her muscles and listening carefully for any words the ginger tom might utter.

Yet, the seemingly inevitable actions did not come. Frostpaw was left hanging, her eyes widening in shock as Rowanheart's pelt laid flat upon his back again and the anger left his eyes. She watched, dumbfounded, as he notably calmed, his entire form relaxing as if she had simply dissolved into thin air.

The stillness in his form was eerie. It disturbed her. It just wasn't natural. No cat's moods should change so quickly, none who were sane. Rowanheart surely couldn't be sane. It scared her more than Rowanheart's fury did, she had to put a great amount of effort into remaining where she was as it made her desperate to slink away.

Finally, the red pelted cat turned to her, displaying to her that patronising smile that made her feel like throwing up. He smiled at her, pityingly, and began to speak in way that made her shiver with both unease and annoyance.

Strangely, now she felt no anger. It felt hopeless to feel angry, wrong even. This... delusion was not something to feel furious about, it was something to sigh at... to wonder how a cat could get things so wrong. The tom made her want to sigh, as if she were the mentor and he were the fumbling apprentice. Such an illusion was not healthy to live him... it would only hinder him when his time was done.

Frostpaw dropped into a leisurely crouch, her eyes empty of emotion and focused upon Rowanheart. She was weary of the same old conversations now. She wondered if she would eternally be having the same conversations with this damn tom until the end of existance.

"Rowanheart," She said simply, frankly, without ulterior motive, "One day you will learn that a cat without belief is not neccessarily without moral. I have morals, ones that lead me to speak what I believe clearly and reject the aid of a medicine cat, which rein over my every action. I stick to them as much as you do to your belief in Starclan. I have never killed a cat nor injured one without needing to. I could have killed you in that battle but I did not, because I believe all life is to be treasured. I am content with life, Rowanheart, and I have my own beliefs. I give respect to those who earn it, and do not try to be bad, or 'sin', as you call it."

"One day you will learn, Rowanheart, that you are an example of your 'path', whether that be a path with or without Starclan." She said softly, without accusation, "The example you have set me is one of hatred, for you have hated me and other non-believers for their non-belief. You do not ask for forgiveness for yourself, yet you ask ask others to do just that. You've shown me a harsh life, Rowanheart, just as my mother did. I've never known Starclan as a loving thing, for it has only ever hurt me or caused those who believe it to hurt me or others like me. You've never shown me the good side of Starclan, Rowanheart, why would I ever want to believe it?"

She chuckled, suddenly finding what she said humorous. "Oh, and don't try and tell me there is a good side, that there's some amazing goodness or happiness Starclan has. You've told me before, but I've never seen it. Believing briefly as a kit never brought me happiness, it only showed me how I'd never be right in my mother's eyes. I'm sure I'd never be right in your eyes either, even if I believed."

[Whiskers]

Rowanheart felt pity stir in his heart for the poor, poor creature in front of him. He wanted to believe that it was not too late. He wanted to keep reminding himself that it was never too late for any cat-- Starclan's love reached all, touched all, cleansed all. That Frostpaw would, one day, be delivered to the almighty grace of Starclan, and then the demons inside of her would be cast out. The putrid scent of sin would be purified and she would rise, renewed, reborn. He wanted to keep believing in that bright future for her (and for him and his children and his clan). But his hope was getting snuffled out, over and over again. It looked like Starclan couldn't touch this certain she-cat.

No, no! What a ridiculous thought. He had just seen Starclan reach out and touch Frostpaw, remind him that she was not beyond saving, not yet. She still lived in Fogclan after all. And so either she enjoyed the hate or she was clinging to Fogclan, desperate for another chance. She needed someone more capable than him. Clearly, he could not help her.

But help was going to come. He looked into Frostpaw's eyes and tried to convey this message. Help was coming for her. Mistpelt would lick her clean and send her on the proper path. Rowanheart had no doubt in Mistpelt's skills and guiding hand. If Mistpelt failed... the thought was unfathomable, but if she did, then at least Frostpaw would get relief from the dark spirits that had so long captured her soul.

If she even had a soul. Maybe that was the problem, Frostpaw just hadn't been born with a soul. What an...unfortunate, sad defect.

"It's because you're blind to the good side, Frostpaw," Rowanheart shook his head sadly at her. "Blind to the love and the happiness. Your mind's eye is twisted and so you seem to have everything backwards. But we could have this conversation thousands of times, you and I. We've already had it."

Once again, he smiled at her. "It's not my voice that you have to hear now. You need Starclan and they are coming, Frostpaw. Do not fret; you will not be lost for much longer. They will save you, or they will relieve you of this terrible life you have led. It's only a matter of time. "

And it was. What else could he say but that? He could argue and argue, spit and rage about how she was evil and how she was dangerous to his clan and his beloved Finchpaw, but it would not change a thing.

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[Rolo]

The smiles did little for Frostpaw. She could sense when Rowanheart was saying something different to what he was thinking a mile off. She knew he was pondering her dark soul and pitying her before he had even spoken a word. Rowanheart was a silly cat. I you cannot lie convincingly, then tell the truth. It's likely to hurt less and to mean more.

Not that he had hurt her at all. She had been beyond the reach of his words for at least a moon now. Watching the tom speak to her invoked no more emotion in her than watching a river rushing past; she'd let the water run, but would she get caught up in the current or care where it ran to? No she would not.

However, it still irritated her to see how much he failed to grasp... how little empathy he seemed to have for her. She was not surprised that Finchpaw had got into such a narrow way of thinking, with Rowanheart's false nurturing but completely abusive attitude. How could a cat fail to understand another's point of view so much? She had absolutely no clue.

Frostpaw stood her ground, her eyes completely cold and unrelenting, "Rowanheart, you act as if I've never believed in Starclan. That is not the case, I can assure you." She mewed, her tail lashing from side to side as she pondered her next words, "As a kit, I believed in them briefly. Very briefly. How could I not with Greyfur as my mother?"

She asked herself along with him. Pleasing her mother had once meant alot to her, back when she was a rogue and they only had eachother. It was strange thinking back to that time... it was strange even acknowledging that she had a mother. The pleasant times she'd spent with her mother felt like little more than fantasies now... she could barely remember why she had loved the long-furred grey, her heart was so filled with loathing for her now.

She shook her head, "Starclan did not bring me any peace, Rowanheart, not even as a kit. My life was never brighter 'knowing' that dead cats watched over me. Starclan only brought me pain, gave my mother unreachable goals to set me to make me the perfect kit." She felt the pure fury she always felt as she thought of her mother lick at her belly, "I never reached one of those goals. Not once. I could be the doting kit, the amazing believer who thanked Starclan for all I had, the most attentive listener and it'd wouldn't be worth a mouse. I never gained her approval, not once. I never recieved any praise. It didn't matter. I got nothing. Not even Starclan gave me the 'bliss' my mother told me I would gain. Believing was pointless, life was pointless. And that was with Starclan, Rowanheart. I was lost, without hope and utterly dejected."

Her brow furrowed, "So don't talk to me about blindness, Rowanheart. In becoming a non-believer, I learnt to see. I learnt to love life, to have joy. I found myself. The only thing that has ever made my life horrible is those who will not accept me for what I am, and even then, that doesn't matter much to me anymore."